VII
O thin men of Haddam,
Why do you imagine golden birds?
Do you not see how the blackbird
Walks around the feet
Of the women about you?
VIII
I know noble accents
And lucid, inescapable rhythms;
But I know, too,
That the blackbird is involved
In what I know.
IX
When the blackbird flew out of sight,
It marked the edge
Of one of many circles.
Summary
In the seventh section, the speaker asks two questions of the "thin men" of Haddam, Connecticut. He asks why they spend their time imagining idealized "golden birds," and why, in doing so, they ignore the commonplace blackbird as it walks among the women in town—implicitly asking, too, why the men ignore the women.
In the eighth section, the speaker ponders the extent of his own knowledge of language, saying that while he knows the accents and rhythms that are considered beautiful, he also knows that the blackbird is involved in some unspoken and implicit way.
In section nine, we get a minimalist scene more reminiscent of the poem's first few sections: a blackbird, flying out of the viewer's sight, traces what the speaker imagines as the edge of a circle, one of many possible imaginary circles.
Analysis: VII
At the poem's midpoint, armed with the many perspectives on the blackbird we have gained thus far, the speaker turns on his fellow Connecticut men to ask why they prefer imaginary, unattainable beauty ("golden birds") over real life (the blackbird). While the speaker has thus far shown an open mind to various perspectives on the blackbird, one group of which he will be firmly critical is those people who simply do not look at the blackbird, because they are too busy daydreaming idealized forms. Remember section V: it does not matter which form of (real-life) beauty we prefer, as long as we explore and embrace the multiplicity of perspectives. The men addressed in section VII are those lesser poets (or readers) who would not take the time for a poem about blackbirds, as Stevens has done, because they would judge the blackbird unworthy.
Though the blackbird has appeared in full flight in other sections, here it is walking among feet, emphasizing its humility and ordinariness. It may be a "small part" (III) of the greater scene of Haddam, but we do the blackbird and ourselves a disservice by ignoring it. Not only this, but the women of the town are also left out of the men's idle daydreaming. These men and women have the potential to be "one" as in section IV, but the men's obliviousness prevents their union.
The descriptor "thin" may be derisive against the men, indicating that they are poetically undernourished by their imaginary birds. The phrase "Do you not see" is rightfully condescending, as is the stanza's interrogative phrasing—Stevens as the poetic speaker has already seen and appreciated the blackbirds. The choice of the town "Haddam" has several effects: for one, it sounds vaguely Middle Eastern or Biblical, giving the chastisement a fable-like tone that is emphasized by the "golden birds." It also echoes the name "Adam," the archetypal man of Genesis and Paradise Lost, perhaps indicating that the "thin men" foolishly long to return to Paradise, and scorn the real world they have walked out into, to their own peril. The poem has offered a great many "ways of looking," all viable options, but here takes a moment to say what not to do: ignore the blackbird entirely.
Analysis: VIII
Section eight acts as a reflection on the speaker's own knowledge, and thus a reflection on the three previous sections, in which the nature of beauty, certainty, and imagination have been questioned. This stanza balances two types of knowledge: the "noble accents / And lucid, inescapable rhythms," and the blackbird's involvement. The former is human speech and poetic convention, the knowledge of which relies on our own created standards of what is beautiful, and what is proper language. The latter is the intangible form of knowledge that we feel through nature and through instinct. We are not told how the blackbird is involved, only that it is—it is likely impossible to say how, exactly—just that there is a subliminal link to nature, and its inscrutable forms, within everything that we claim we know. We could call this pairing explicit and implicit knowledge. We should be careful not to fully conflate them with the explicit and implicit knowledge in section V, but the distinction is similar: one is expressed, the other is inexpressible.
In part, Stevens is reflecting on his own ability as a poet: he is able to learn and employ the "accents" and "rhythms" of skilled poetic writing, but in this poem he is attempting to do justice to the ineffable aesthetics of nature. By acknowledging paradoxically that our own knowledge includes things we do not fully understand, we find perhaps a bit of reconciliation with the failure of interpretation in section VI. We do not have to know everything about the blackbird, only that it is involved. This approach also represents humility on the part of the speaker, something the men of Haddam lack in thinking they can conjure a perfect poetic image fully out of their imaginations. It may be sobering to admit the limits of one's knowledge, but that is the serenity necessary to engage truthfully with real life and real creatures. The slow pacing of the stanza's one sentence, and the triple usage of "know," create the rhythm of a mantra to reinforce this serenity.
Analysis: IX
On the topic of the limitations of knowledge, section IX follows closely related to section VIII. Here, Stevens returns to a brief, three-line image featuring one defining motion, most reminiscent of sections I or III: the blackbird flies away, farther than the viewer can see. This flight itself is unremarkable without the way that the speaker interprets it as marking "the edge / Of one of many circles." As usual, perspective matters most: this "circle" is unique to the viewer, as it represents his specific field of vision, his horizon. Thus it is "one of many," or indeed one of an infinite number of perspectives, as a step in any direction will produce a new field of vision.
The "edge" of the circle, then, is the boundary between what the viewer sees and does not see, the spatial limit of his knowledge. The blackbird is able to traverse the divide between knowable and unknowable, as we have seen in previous sections. Stanza IX reconciles the gap between the order of section IV and the terror of section VI by calmly acknowledging the "edge" where certainty ends and uncertainty begins.
